Night and Day

The man who sat next to me on the ‘plane wanted to talk. Unlike me, he wasn’t headed for a break. He had left Belfast on a dawn flight and was now on the way home after a day’s work. He was pessimistic about the weather, telling me that although we might have been having a non-summer in England it was nowhere near as bad as in NI. This was hardly welcome as I had left London basking in 30c. You could almost feel the city relaxing its muscles, unbuttoning its top button and kicking off its shoes.
At the airport Cousin and I managed to miss each other. Now if you don’t know Belfast International you might be forgiven for imagining some massive Heathrow complex. It is petite, an intimate size for an airport. We still don’t know how we did it. It would have challenged a choreographer of Frederick Ashton’s skill to make sure we were not in the same space at the same time. I assumed she was delayed. She assumed she had mistaken the day. I wandered out to the front of the airport to get some air. I had just looked up from my ‘phone where I had established I did not have her mobile number when I saw her walking past me.
“Hello,” I said.
We drive back and I reacquainted myself with Westie Boy who was full of beans and has quite forgotten all his Clicker training. I can see I may be busy this week. At the end of the day he was tired and wanted sleep.

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